


ghostinnit :)

by Cringe_Culture



Series: raccooninnit prompts pog [5]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (tags will change), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Author is a TommyInnit Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Character Death, Crying, Gen, Ghost TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghosts, Goat Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Holding Hands, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Immortality, Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), No Romance, No Smut, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Platonic Relationships, Ram Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Sad Toby Smith | Tubbo, Scared TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Stimming, Suicide, Suicide Notes, Temporary Character Death, Violence, Violent Thoughts, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, author also doesn’t know how to tag, i think it’s a comfort thing, idk why, just some wholesome ghost boys, only a little, spiritual hugs?, they hum a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28793109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cringe_Culture/pseuds/Cringe_Culture
Summary: When Philza wrote to Tommy the first time, and he didn’t respond, there was no real panic in him.—prompt:“tommy [is unalive] and his ghost comes back, but he’s a kid again. (somewhere between 8 and 10) he does have memories but it’s only anything before the age that his ghost is, he has no memory of the smp. insert the sleepy bois angst here”
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Floris | Fundy & Phil Watson, Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: raccooninnit prompts pog [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088249
Comments: 162
Kudos: 1261





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [dsmp tommyinnit cannot catch a fucking break and i’m the reason why](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28489422) by [racooninnit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/racooninnit/pseuds/racooninnit). 



> i am so sorry this took so long to get out aaaa. it’s kinda heavy to write :/ it’s not very good because i’m very bad at editing but i might come back and fix it later
> 
> this will be multiple chapters! ill try to get each one out as soon as possible but no promises
> 
> fuck glattbur, all my homies write glattbur out of their aus because it’s hard to justify
> 
> (i love glattbur though i stg wtf was that)
> 
> disclaimers: this in NO WAY reflects the feelings of the content creators or the characters. PLEASE do not send this their way. this is self-indulgent and based off the characters they play in the smp.
> 
> also, i have a hard time with grammar and spelling so please kindly point out mistakes. i don’t beta read
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS
> 
> suicide notes, death, childhood trauma
> 
> (i will put specific trigger warnings before every individual chapter so i don’t have to make a super long one here, please heed those. this is just an overall for the whole story)

When Philza wrote to Tommy the first time, and he didn’t respond, there was no real panic inside of him. He didn’t assume the worst, not because he wasn’t concerned, but because he genuinely didn’t think anything bad could have happened.

What could possibly be threatening to him? He probably still had his armor (although, Dream had acted weird about that when Ghostbur had had him over, so that was still up in the air), he had his weapons, and he wasn’t stupid. Tommy didn’t get hurt unless he was being careless, and only a small fraction of deaths would keep him away from the letter, anyways.

He just assumed that he was angry or upset with him, for whatever reason that may be. It would make sense. The one time that he had gone to see him, he had wanted little to do with him, purposefully putting space between them and flinching whenever Phil made a sudden movement.

It was now a few days later, however, and Ranboo was walking up his front steps. He had a book clutched to his chest, and his eyes were as wide as dinner plates. He looked terrified. Phil’s heart leapt to his throat.

“Hello, Ranboo,” he said, when he opened the door.

His greeting was ignored. The half-enderman pushed past him and collapsed on the couch. His breathing was ragged and loud, which was undeniably concerning.

Ranboo opened his mouth to speak, and it opened wider than Phil expected. The sound that came out was garbled and loud and not human.

Tenderly, he sat down next to the boy, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Ranboo took a few deep breaths before attempting to speak again.

“Tommy wrote something to me,” he said, a hint of gravel still left in his voice. “Please, I don’t wanna explain it. Here.”

The book was shoved at Phil’s chest, and Ranboo went back to his enderman-like speech. Phil decided not to say anything about it. He didn’t need to speak to him to read, and it seemed to comfort him.

He opened the book. Some of the pages were charred; it was probably held in the nether for a while. He flips to the last page that was written on, which is stained with tears.

“Christ, I can hardly read this,” Phil mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. “‘Hi, Ranboo. This is probably going to be my last letter back to you, so sorry about that I guess. Dream blew up my Logstedshire, and my Tnret.’ Is that a misspelling or some kind of inside joke?”

Ranboo didn’t respond. He figured it wasn’t the time.

“...And he killed Mexican Dream, who wasn’t really a friend, but you know how it be.’ Dream killed someone? Ranboo, where the fuck is this going?”

“Keep reading.” Phil could barely make it out, but he understood.

“‘I guess this is my way of saying I don’t have much left. You haven’t visited me in a few months, and you’re probably busy, but it kinda sucks. A little bit.’” Phil inhaled sharply when his eyes read the next line, and his stomach dropped to his fucking feet. “‘I’ll probably be dead when you read this.’”

Ranboo cried, deep and painful, and Phil couldn’t bring himself to read the rest of it. The boy on his couch was practically hyperventilating.

“When did he write this?” Phil’s mouth moves without his permission. “When?”

Ranboo pulls at his hair, and the fluff on his face. “I don’t know, maybe a few weeks ago at the most. I hadn’t checked... I didn’t think something like this would happen. I didn’t think he’d do it. He talked about it, a few times. Or, referenced it. Kept saying he had nothing to live for, but I didn’t think he was serious.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Phil said. “He’s dead, do you think?”

“Probably. I couldn’t find him, when I went looking.” Ranboo’s voice is still garbled, but it’s clear he’s making an effort to speak ‘normally.’ Phil can’t help but feel bad. “You could ask Ghostbur. He can usually... it’s a thing, right? Where ghosts can sense stuff?”

“Maybe.” Phil wrung his hands in thought. “Probably. Ghostbur would always talk about how many ‘canon lives’ everyone has left, he could probably...”

Someone else knocks on the door. Lots of visitors today, apparently. Phil numbly walks to answer it, and, lo and behold, it’s Techno, with his ghostly brother practically attached to his shoulder like a translucent parasite. It was a few hours earlier than Techno was supposed to visit, and he was about to comment on how dangerous it was for him to be here before Ghostbur burst through the door.

“Hello, Philza!” Ghostbur squeezed past Techno’s shoulders to float through the door.. “Hello, Ranboo... why are you both crying?”

He was crying? He wiped at his cheeks. They were wet. How had he not noticed?

“Dream blew up Tommy’s tent,” Techno said.

At the same time, Phil answered, “Tommy’s fucking dead.”

Ghostbur blinked a few times, then gave a sideways smile.

“Of course he is,” he said, his voice no more choked up than normal. “I’ve seen him.”

For a few moments, the only sound in the house was Ranboo’s strange garbling. Phil had no idea what to do in this situation.

Should he go check for himself? Should they go search for an alive Tommy before assuming the worst? Maybe he’s out there, in pain somewhere. He trusted Ghostbur’s word, of course, but part of him needed solid proof.

“Why didn’t you tell me that earlier, Ghostbur?” Techno clenched his fists tightly, eyes focused on the ground. “You knew the whole time?”

“Yes,” Ghostbur started, hesitantly, as if he was just now realizing the error of his ways, and the secret he’d involuntarily kept. “But I didn’t realize it was that important. And-and you didn’t tell me why you were coming here! I didn’t know it was about him or I would have told you, right away!”

Techno entered the house, slamming the door behind him. Ghostbur flinched.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

The piglin took a few deep breaths, and made eye contact with Phil. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t.”

“So, he’s really dead?” Ranboo was pulling at his hair again.

“Yes,” Ghostbur said. “I saw him, last time I went to that... place. I don’t know what it is. I guess it’s some kind of limbo. He said nothing, he was real small.”

“Small?” Techno asked, his voice much more hushed now.

“Small,” Ghostbur said again. “The... the forms that you see, that I see, they’re not like normal humans. Kinda like colors. I’m yellow, and I’m shaped kinda like a human. Not exactly, but close. I’ve seen a big blue one, I think. They say they don’t remember their name, and I don’t recognize their voice. I don’t recognize a lot of voices. But, Tommy was small, and red. I don’t know what that means, probably nothing.”

Phil sat in thought for a moment, before voicing the idea that had been itching at the back of his head since the beginning of Ghostbur’s little rant.

“Do you think you could bring him back here?” Ghostbur tilted his head. “Like you. Like... a ghost.”

“Probably,” Ghostbur said. “If I talked to him, I could probably get him to come back. Maybe. I don’t know if I could force him, if he doesn’t want to.”

“Then don’t force anything,” Ranboo said. “Just tell him he can come back. We want him back.”

Ghostbur smiled crookedly. “M’kay, I can do that.” He looked at Philza. Phil resisted the urge to shiver; it was almost like Ghostbur could stare right through your soul, and sense your secrets. It was more than a little creepy. “Is that what everyone wants?”

“Yes,” Techno and Phil said, in unison.

Techno cleared his throat. “Will he be in any pain?”

“No,” Ghostbur answered, immediately. “I’m not in pain. Not except the scar, but it’s only an ache.”

Phil stayed quiet at that, guilt ripping at his lungs and his throat. The apparition seemed to not notice, though, thank God.

“I can talk to him, too.” Ghostbur looked at all of them. “I will talk to him, for you.”

“Thank you, Ghostbur.” Ranboo stood up from his seat on the couch. “Can we do something? Stop thinking about it for a while?”

“I’ll... I’ll stay here with you,” Techno said. “Phil needs to talk to someone.”

Phil hummed. There was one person missing from this impromptu meeting, one person who this would affect significantly. As much as he hated him, he couldn’t leave him in the dark. Not about something like this.

“Tubbo?” Ranboo asked.

Phil nodded, and grabbed his bag. Techno grabbed Ranboo’s forearm, and took him into the kitchen, and Ghostbur was left alone with Phil.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Ghostbur fidgeted with his hands. “I don’t remember a whole lot, but I know Tommy hasn't had the best experience here, in life.”

“Maybe,” Phil said. “Maybe. We’ll see. You’ll try, won’t you?”

“I will,” Ghostbur promised, and Phil nodded.

He left the house and the feelings of fear and guilt. He couldn’t take them with him, not where he was going. He would be strong, for once in his life, he’d be there for the children (or, more appropriately, child) of the group.

Twice was far too many times to fail at raising a kid. Hell, the first time was already too much, but apparently he hadn’t learned from Wilbur.

Now, though, he had, and he couldn’t do it again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi, welcome back to the show where i try to write and you sort of enjoy it
> 
> anyways i know it’s been a hot second since i’ve updated but like. don’t @ me about it i can’t write for the life of me.
> 
> this is a short chapter i know, but if i tried to add the next part on itd take me another week deadass so here you go, hope you enjoy :)
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:
> 
> afterlife discussion

Ghostbur did not like going into the Void.

It was cold, dark, and scary: almost all of the things that Ghostbur hated about being dead. At least it wasn’t completely lonely.

“Hello,” he said, to the blue one. He remembered floating up to as soon as he had gained the ability to. Their misty essence was, as per usual, churning lazily, almost like a wave. “Have you seen Tommy recently?”

“Uh, that’s the little red fucker, right?” They belched, loudly. Ghostbur didn’t even know how they did that. “I haven’t seen ‘im in a bit, no. He did talk to me once. That was kinda cool. Didn’t seem to recognize me, though.”

Ghostbur frowned internally. Someone that Tommy didn’t know? He didn’t know anyone who had died that the kid didn’t know. Maybe Tommy had forgotten about them, in his death? However, a person who had purely bad memories associated with them was rare, and he doubted that was true.

Perhaps Tommy was like him, and just didn’t recognize the voice.

“Okay,” Ghostbur said. “Thank you anyways!”

“Yup,” the mist said, and they floated away nonchalantly. What a nice ghost.

Ghostbur stretched out as far as he could, and bounced back, giggling as he did so. His spiritual form was his favorite, even though he hated the world he had experience in order to access it; there were no weird confinements like skin and muscle, just a misty being that could stretch and shrink as much as he liked it to. His corporeal form was much more boring.

Plus, he was yellow, and yellow was his favorite color. Except blue, of course.

He observed the void around him, looking out for the spark of red that signaled Tommy. Forms were usually easy to spot, but Tommy was so small that Ghostbur wasn’t sure he wouldn’t miss him.

“Tommy,” he called out, as loud as he could.

He passed by a dark, churning mist, but he ignored it. He’d talked to that one before, and it wasn’t very friendly to him. He really had no idea who it was, anyways.

“Tommy?”

He spotted a little, flame-like form, and rested next to it.

“Hello, Tommy,” Ghostbur said, prodding the small spirit. He flinched back, just out of reach.

Tommy’s form flickered. He didn’t speak. Ghostbur could practically feel the fear rolling off of him.

“Do you know who I am?” Ghostbur brushed the other form with an almost-hand-like blob.

Tommy didn’t answer with words, but he reached back out like he missed the short contact that they had made. Ghostbur wasn’t sure that he could feel it. Considering how small and dense his form was, though, he wouldn’t be particularly surprised if he could.

The small spirit nudged closer to Ghostbur, colors bleeding until eventually he couldn’t tell where he ended and Tommy began. It was a common, and almost natural, thing, like a spiritual hug of sorts. It’s both common and normal to be afraid in the Void, especially when you’re so newly deceased, and a child searching for comfort in someone he knows (knew?) well wasn’t a surprise.

Tommy began to hum. It felt as if the sound came from inside Ghostbur’s own head, and it was a much higher pitch than he’d expected.

“Do you think you would like to go home, Tommy?” Ghostbur tried not to move or churn too much, scared that he would startle him and he’d have to start over. It was difficult, but he settled down where they both rested and tried to relax.

“To where?” Tommy’s voice was high, like a child’s. Ghostbur refrained from mentioning it, though. His voice was different now, too, and maybe this is just how Tommy was going to sound.

“Home,” Ghostbur repeated. “To Techno, and Dad, and Tubbo! You like Tubbo, don’t you?”

In the metaphorical blink of an eye, Tommy took his own form and darted away. “You can take me to them? Where are they?”

“Yeah,” he said, deciding to ignore the second question. Tommy didn’t seem to care, and the flame-tip of his spirit began fluttering excitedly. “I can, but only if you want to, and if you try with me. Got it?”

“O’course,” Tommy replied, happiness clear in his voice.

Ghostbur relished in the positive emotions that spiked off of the boy. This kind of pure, innocent glee hadn’t been felt by Tommy in a long while, Ghostbur doesn’t think. He doesn’t really remember, but, from what he can grasp, Tommy hadn’t exactly been the happiest teenager.

He physically shook off the thought, and churned again.

“Good. Now, come here.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER THREE POG (i KNOW it’s short but the next chapter will be other very very soon dw!)
> 
> this book is lowkey popping off just a little bit, thank you all for the kind comments aaa you’re all so so nice!!
> 
> ik these are taking a Hot Minute to get out but i should start going at least a little bit faster and the chapters SHOULD get longer. i’ve been having finals the past week or so, so my workload should go down. i also might go back and edit the previous chapters to more match my specific writing style cause they don’t really fit shwjjdkwkr
> 
> here’s a little psa (because i want more things to write JEKAKRKKA) if you want me to write something specific my requests are always open! i even have a request book for the smp and i’d totally be willing to write most things. 
> 
> ofc it might take a bit but i will get it done eventually i promise
> 
> anyways! enjoy this chapter. it’s about Philza and Fundy for the most part
> 
> also. FURRY FUNDY FUCK YOU HES A FOX HE HAS PAWS I DONT CARE
> 
> (ps, if you ever wonder why my fics suck or don’t sound poetic, i’m 1000% blaming it on the playlist i listen to while writing. it’s genuinely the worst writing playlist and i love it. it has like 3 jreg songs and i don’t know why)
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS
> 
> mentions of violence/murder (because c!philza is lowkey a bad father), death and suicide discussion, mourning

Had Phil found Tubbo sleeping in the camarvan an hour earlier, he wouldn’t have thought twice about sending an arrow through his and Fundy’s skull and taking their lives. It would have been easy, given he took the right tools.

However, he hadn’t taken any fucking weapons, and he hadn’t half the energy needed to kill Tubbo, much less his own grandson.

When he did find them, the goat was curled up in an extremely defenseless position, armor off and clutching a book and quill to his chest. The floor was covered in a thin blanket of dirt and Tubbo would probably smell when he woke up. Fundy was sitting on the main console of the van, knees pulled up to his chest and tears streaming down his fluffy cheeks.

(Was this guilt that Phil was feeling? No, probably not. If it was, it was a very small amount, and infinitely dulled by the ever-growing pit of grief in his stomach.)

His grandson’s head jerked up, and he could practically see the fear glint in his dark eyes, like the moon against rippling water.

“Listen, I know you’re mad at him.”

“‘Dee...”

“I know you’re mad at him for Tommy and everything, but please just leave. He didn’t mean it. He was being manipulated, too. Please.” Fundy shakily pulled out his sword. “Please leave us alone.”

Phil raised his hands in a promise of peace. “I have no weapons, okay? I just want to talk.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Fundy sniffled, raising the sword with both paws so the point was at his chest. “How do I know you’re not here to kill him? To kill me?”

“I’m not. I can promise you that I’m not.” Phil summoned the one thing in his inventory to his hands; a chunk of Ghostbur’s blue that stained his palms within seconds. “This is the only thing I have on me. You can fuckin’ take it, I don’t care, I just need you boys at my house as soon as possible.”

Fundy’s gaze lingered on the blue, but his grip only tightened and the point of the sword dug into his skin. He held back a curse.

“I don’t want Ghostbur’s blue bullshit,” he said. “I’m not going to crack just ‘cause you bring up my dead dad, man.”

At this point, Phil was legitimately beginning to think that Fundy might kill him, and he was starting to regret not setting his spawn somewhere close. Did he even set his spawn at home last? Oh, shit, he better not show up at Techno’s cabin.

“Alright, alright,” Phil reasoned, sucking in his chest so the point wasn’t as abrasive against his sternum. “Alright. I get it, you’re upset. Can I tell you why I’m here, mate?”

“I’d prefer that over any other option, really,” Fundy said. “I don’t want to kill you, Phil, you know that.”

He didn’t, and he most certainly didn’t trust that statement, but he played along anyways.

“I have shit news,” Phil said. “Tommy’s dead.”

Fundy’s grip loosened noticeably, and Phil refrained from yanking the sword from the boy’s paws. “What?”

“I need you and Tubbo back at my house so we can figure shit out.” Phil placed his palm on the side of the blade and pushed it gently off of his chest. “Ghostbur went to find him and we need to be there for him when he comes back, alright? That’s why I’m here.”

Fundy hesitantly lowered the sword the rest of the way, and Phil pressed the blue into one of his paws. He sniffled, and inspected the dusty substance closely.

“I’ll grab Tubbo,” he said, his voice small and weak. “I can carry him back, and chances are he is not going to wake up before we get there..”

“What?” Phil’s voice came out much more sharp than he’d meant it, but he didn’t apologize. “Why the fuck will he not wake up?”

Fundy stumbled over his words. “Dream likes to hit him with potions, sometimes. Whenever he finds it appropriate. It just... he’s recovering. You know how it is. He had to respawn and he...”

Phil didn’t have to hear the rest. He waved his hand dismissively, and stood up straight, brushing his pants off.

“Do you want me to go ahead, or...?”

“Sure. I-I don’t care, just...” Fundy rubbed his eyes with the back of his paw. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how it must feel. He’s your fucking son and I’m crying about it, after he...”

“Hey,” Phil said, placing a hand on Fundy’s shoulder. “He’s your uncle, too. You’re allowed to fuckin’ cry over some who died, don’t feel guilty for doing so. Don’t apologize for that shit, ever.”

Fundy nodded frantically. His shoulders were tense. Phil released his grip and brushed his hand off again.

“I’ll meet you at my house, yeah?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Fundy took a deep breath. “Fuck.”

“Agreed.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is swag
> 
> lmk what y’all think about this chapter cause i’m a little bit proud of it ngl. took me a long time to finish,
> 
> tubbo is struggling and techno is a little angy :(
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:
> 
> referenced violence, violent urges/intrusive thoughts, arguing, grief, and chronic pain discussion, because same

Waking up on an unfamiliar couch was, weirdly enough, the highlight of Tubbo’s day. He would honestly take a kidnapping over Dream’s potions any day.

His back ached terribly when he sat up (damn you chronic pain), and he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. His surroundings quickly came into focus. He recognized the face in a photo on the wall across from him as Philza.

This must be Philza’s house. Or, just some really creepy person’s. Probably the former.

He rubbed his eyes, and stood on wet-spaghetti legs. God, what was up with his body? Maybe it was the respawn, but he doubted it. The pain usually didn’t linger for this long, right?

He stretched his arms over the back of his head, and glanced around the room. There was a poster that he couldn’t be bothered to read and a window looking out on the pond of L’manburg.

As he was staring out the window, the door slammed open, and he jumped. Techno stood awkwardly in the doorway, his red eyes boring through his skull. 

He tries his best not to think about the scars on his face, and his legs, but they burn anyway.

“Hey,” the piglin said, leaning against the doorframe, presumably to seem more relaxed.

“Hello.” He yawned widely. “What’s going on?”

“Hm,” Techno hummed, completely ignoring his question. Tubbo ignored the hot annoyance in his chest. “Phil wanted you downstairs as soon as you woke up.”

“What?” Tubbo was yanked out of his sleepy state.“Why?”

“Phil’s got news,” he said. He then pointed to the wardrobe with his hoof-finger. “You can just steal some of my old clothes. Come downstairs.”

Techno gave no other explanation before closing the door behind him and stomping down the stairs. Tubbo ignored the urge to rip out his hair and grabbed a hoodie and some random sweats with an adjustable waistband so they didn’t fall down.

As if his damn hooves weren’t loud enough, the stairs groaned as he walked down them. His hands were shoved into the pocket of the hoodie. He could hear Ranboo gurgling in a simultaneously familiar and alien language.

He skipped the few bottom steps, hopping down and nearly tripping on the legs of his pants. He regained his balance quickly, though, and he made his way to the living room where they were all assembled.

Phil was sitting on the rocking chair in the corner, his wings outstretched in a protective state. It was as if he was attempting to cover the room on instinct. Tubbo couldn’t help but feel like they were being protected from him. 

“D’ya want to sit down, mate?”

“Um,” Tubbo gulped, “sure, I guess.”

Techno patted the couch cushion — if it could even be called that, it was mostly patches — next to him, so he hurriedly sat down and wrung his hands in his lap.

“I’m going to try not to stall, right? ‘Cause you’re the last to know when you should’ve been the first.” Phil was staring him down, his eyes lacking their usual brightness. “How do I even fuckin’ begin this, Jesus Christ...”

“It’s Tommy,” Techno blurted. His hand scratched the bottom of his chin. “He’s dead.”

The room fell quiet. Ranboo made some foreign noise, and his violent urges returned. He flexed his hands against his thighs as his brain struggled to process what he just heard.

The steadiness of Techno’s voice when he said it was definitely a catalyst in the anger for the angry heat at the pit of his stomach. Techno had lit a fire there, and his fists bounced on his legs, now. Ranboo tearfully began to berate Techno for being so blunt.

“Do you realize how important this was? Do you? You dropped this on him with no warning.” 

“I’m trying my best, Ranboo. Y’all weren’t gonna say it, and he needed to know, so I figured—“

“You figured what?” Ranboo asked, his voice wavering. He was more angry than Tubbo had ever seen him. It was quite scary, honestly.

“I figured I’d stop being an asshole and tell the kid the truth.”

“You couldn’t have even tried to be soft? We’re... they’re... he’s young. Please just... be easy.”

“‘Be easy?’ ‘Be soft?’ What did you want me to say?” Techno was towering over everyone, his shoulders squared, his brow furrowed. “Do you want me to beat around the bush? Give you some stupid fucking euphemism? ‘Tommy is no longer with us.’ He’s dead. What more do you want from me?”

Ranboo was crying silently, now, and he shrunk on himself. “How could you be so... like that?”

“Practice.”

“No,” Ranboo said. “I don’t want to hear your sob story. I want answers, I want... I don’t know. Do you even care that he’s gone?”

Techno’s face fell, and Ranboo seemed to grasp the weight of his words. He covered his mouth with his hand.

“No, no, no. I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

Techno stood up, and Tubbo stared up at him through foggy vision.

“After I helped you calm down? This is how you thank me?”

“No, I didn’t mean it that way,” Ranboo sobbed, and his long arms wrapped around his own chest in a mock-hug. “I’m sorry.”

Techno, seemingly ignoring the apology, picked up his crossbow. Tubbo’s hands began to shake when he towered. above him. Scary, scary, scary. The tight tissue around his eye burned. 

“Not everyone deals with shit the same way,” he growled, angry and calm simultaneously. It was directed at Ranboo, but he was staring directly at Tubbo. “I’m sorry, Tubbo, but it had to be said.”

He didn’t reply. He couldn’t. He didn’t know how. He could say, “it’s okay,” but it wasn’t. There was, “fuck you,” but that was dangerous. 

Techno stormed out of the house. Tubbo’s entire body felt like it was vibrating, his jaw was clenched, and he wanted to run but he felt frozen. Fuck.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” Ranboo said, hardly hanging on to human speech. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, man.”

“Stop.” His voice came across as much sharper than he wanted, and a tiny bit of him felt guilty. The majority, though, just felt fucking pissed. “This isn’t funny, Philza, tell me you’re all joking.”

“It’s not funny,” Phil agreed. “And I’m not joking. I’m sorry, Tubbo.”

The sound of paws padding down the stairs broke through the silence. Fundy. Tubbo’s head spun around to catch his gaze.

“Did you know?” 

“What?” Fundy stammered over the word. His arms came up to wrap around his body, the same way Ranboo had a moment ago.

“Did you know?” He repeated, with no elaboration.

He seemed to shrink under Tubbo’s glare, trembling, his ears flat back on his head. Phil said something, maybe some sort of explanation, but Tubbo hardly heard him over the rushing of blood through his ears.

“Not before you respawned,” Fundy said, ducking his head, and, God, he looked so scared. “I would’ve told you, honest. We only got here a couple hours ago.”

Tubbo shook his hands up and down more, attempting to dispel some of his excess energy, to no avail. There was a whine in the back of his throat and he shut his eyes tightly. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, no. He’d really fucked it all up, hadn’t he? He didn’t even know what to think, what to say, what to do. How was he even supposed to cope? Why did he listen to Dream? Why did he believe him? He was an asshole, he’d betrayed his best friend. and now it was too late.

Far, far too late. He couldn’t even help. No, no, no.

“Tubbo.” Ranboo’s voice cut through the panic, and his hands came up to rest on the sides of his head to stop him from hitting himself. “Tub... Tubbo.”

His face screwed up and he brought his hands up to cover it. His fingers dug violently into his scalp. He heard Phil crying. Fuck, fuck, fuck. No.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered. He wasn’t even sure if it came out right, his brain was too cluttered, but it was a mantra mostly for himself. Maybe, if he said it enough, whatever deity that had cursed him would relent, and he’d wake up, and this would all be a weird dream. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Ranboo was gurgling to him, and he pressed his face to his chest. Tubbo couldn’t cry, and there were no tears in his eyes, but he could hear himself making sounds. His chest burned furiously, now, and there were screams crawling up his throat and ripping his lungs apart.

Ranboo’s bony fingers were running through his hair, like he was trying to lull him to sleep. He wanted to push him off, to get away, so he could think about this alone, but he couldn’t move his fucking arms. He couldn’t move anything by himself. He was clutching Ranboo’s shoulders tightly, too tightly, but he couldn’t let go, despite how much he wanted to.

The other boy’s chest rumbled. He was humming, and Tubbo turned his face to dig into his sternum. There were still sounds being torn from his throat, painful sounds, that felt like sandpaper against his vocal chords, but he couldn’t bring himself to try to stop them anymore. 

Ranboo hummed, and hummed, and hummed. It must have only been a few minutes that they sat there, but it felt like an eternity. Despite the inhuman-ness of the boy’s voice, it was a familiar tune. Maybe it was something made up, maybe it was something new. Either way, it was soothing, and felt old.

Soon enough, static filled Tubbo’s mind, and he was blank. Not calm, but empty, and fuzzy.

It wasn’t how he should feel. It wasn’t healthy, and it sure as hell wasn’t normal. Feeling numb wasn’t good. But, it would work, for now. He could keep himself together this way. The screams had stopped, and it was better than anything else he could feel, he figured.

He’d think about it later. He’d process this later. Right now, he just needed to calm down, so he could get rid of the urge to smash his head against the painting on the wall.

He buried his face into Ranboo’s sweater, and he breathed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> this is very swag.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS
> 
> body horror/slight gore, death/dead characters, memory loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS. TOOK. ME. SO. LONG. TO. WRITE. i hated it so much so here, have it

The first sense that Tommy received in his “corporeal form” (Wilbur’s words, not his) was hearing. It was foggy, but he could hear his brother humming to him. He knew it was Wilbur because he knew his voice, but he sounded weird. Like he was underwater.

His other senses followed suit, practically hitting him like a truck. He blinked his eyes and tried not to gag on his own tongue. His mouth tasted terrible, like charcoal and bile.

Wilbur was patting him on the cheek, lightly slapping him like he was trying to wake him up. He reached out to touch the yellow something in front of him, and he hit the soft fabric of a sweater rather than the warmth of the spirit that he’d hoped for.

It was hard to make out through the fogginess in his head, but he could hear Wilbur calling his name. He didn’t sound concerned, so he didn’t panic about replying just yet. His hands bunched the fabric of his brother’s sweater in his hands, trying to find something. Maybe it was warmth, maybe it was just an imperfection in the stitching. His fingers eventually found a tear in the fabric, and he rubbed the pad of his thumb against the rugged edge.

After a few moments, he opened his eyes again (when had he closed them?) and stared at the vibrant blue mark behind the rip. That was definitely not familiar.

He looked up at Wilbur’s face. His skin was an ashy shade of grey, and he looked grown up. Much, much more grown up than Tommy was used to. Or, that he thought he was used to. What was he used to?

“There you are,” his brother said, with a smile. “Hi!”

He stared at him without a word. His tongue felt so foreign that he wasn’t sure he could speak yet.

“I know it can be a bit overwhelming, you don’t have to talk yet.” He looked around for a moment, and then sighed. “We spawned in the Nether. This must’ve been where you wanted to go, ‘cause I sure didn’t do that. Not that that’s a bad thing.”

As soon as he heard “Nether,” Tommy released the sweater and pulled himself into a sitting position. His feet were dangling off of the edge of a Netherrack cliff, and giant lava pools were bubbling below them. 

He quickly noticed that his shoes were gone, and his bare feet were black-soled, and nearly unrecognizable. His hands, which were resting on the ground at his sides, were an angry red and blistered. It burned, 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and allowed Wilbur to drag him a bit away from the edge.

“Are you scared, Tommy?”

“Yeah,” Tommy muttered. He stared at the mark on Ghostbur’s chest. “You can take me to Dad and Tubbo, now?”

A pained emotion flashed across Wilbur’s face, but it was fleeting, and it was only a moment before it was back to normal.

“Yes.” He helped him to stand, and his feet left the ground. He spun around so he was floating upside-down, which looked fun. “I can bring you to Philza. But... Are you sure you want to go to them? I can keep you away for a little, if you want me to.”

Tommy shook his head, bewildered. “Why?”

“Oh,” Wilbur said, his face screwed up in the same pained expression as before. “It’s… Phil has done some things, and I know you… Hm.”

Wilbur stared intently at him for a few moments.

“I don’t know.” Tommy grabbed Wilbur’s sleeve instinctively. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to remember.”

Wilbur didn’t respond, and he guided him up to a Nether portal. The purple substance set something cold in Tommy’s chest, and he looked at Wilbur for help.

“I need to go through here to see them?”

“Yes,” Wilbur said, confused. “Philza lives in L’Manburg, Tommy.”

“I don’t…” Tommy shook his head a bit, and furrowed his brow. He didn’t know what L’Manburg was, but why was he so upset about using a random Nether Portal? “Okay.”

“It’s alright,” Wilbur said, wistfully. “Everything’s a bit confusing right now, ‘specially for us.”

“Us?”

“The dead,” Wilbur said, and pushed him into the portal.

Tommy’s vision was squished and pulled, making him feel more and more nauseous every second it happened. There was a whoosh of sound, and Tommy popped out of the other side.

He stared down at the unpleasant ground, which was made of several types of rough stone. Unsteadily, he allowed his body to float above it, preventing the sharp edges from digging into the sensitive soles of his feet. Wilbur followed him, and popped out of the portal as well.

The light of the Overworld made everything sharper and clearer, and, therefore, made it much easier to see his brother. His skin was a sickly grey, and his blue mark was less of a mark, and more of an open wound, oozing a blue, blood-like substance onto his shirt. Gross.

“Come on, they’re waiting,” he said, and he grabbed Tommy’s hand and shot into the sky.

The two of them clumsily landed on a strange cobblestone “build” (if he could even call it that). Tommy didn’t recognize any of it at first, but there was still a strange feeling of fear gripping at his throat that he couldn’t shake. An out of place feeling, something akin to guilt, something that told him he shouldn’t be here.

And that didn’t make any sense. He’d never been here before.

“Look, there’s the camarvan.” Wilbur pointed down at a van that seemed vaguely familiar to Tommy.

“Drugs,” Tommy muttered instinctively, and Wilbur burst out into giggles. It was very uncharacteristic of him, and it forced a laugh out of Tommy, as well.

Wilbur wiggled his fingers at a figure on the ground, whose head was red and orange. Or, maybe it was just a hood. The figure shouted an incomprehensible greeting back. “There’s Ponk. He’s nice.”

“I don’t recognize him.”

“I doubt you’ll recognize a lot of people,” Wilbur said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be here, I’ll help you with it.”

“‘Kay,” Tommy said, rubbing his nose with his wrist and trying to ignore the searing pain the action sent down his destroyed skin.

“Oh! Found it. There’s Philza’s house. And-and he’s standing on the porch.” His older brother waved dramatically at the man. He yanked him again, harder this time, quickly making his way down to their father. “Phil, Phil! Hi! He came back with me!”

His dad turned his head, and his face screwed up when he saw Tommy. He looked older, too, and something in his stomach shifted. He felt sick. He just wanted his dad, not a weird other version of his dad.

He assumed something changed in his outward demeanor, as well, because Wilbur tightened his grip on his hand as a form of comfort.

“Ghostbur,” Philza sighed, rubbing his temples with an index and thumb. “Why’s he fuckin’ nine?”

“Ghostbur?” Tommy questioned, only to go ignored by the other two.

“No, no,” Wilbur (Ghostbur?) said, releasing Tommy’s hand to gesture wildly, again. Tommy was starting to realize that Wilbur talked with his hands a lot. “He’s not nine, he just looks nine. Right, Tommy?”

Tommy’s mind blanked. How old was he? He didn’t remember a lot, and the passage of time in memories is often blurred, even without the holes. He messed with his fingers for a moment, trying to push through the fog, but he couldn’t.

“I don’t know,” Tommy said, his voice wavering. “I don’t remember. Why ‘Ghostsbur?’”

“It’s a name he uses to separate himself from Alivebur— alive Wilbur, Toms,” Phil explained exasperatedly. Tommy stared up at Wilbur, now Ghostbur, and figured that that made sense. Ghostbur didn’t seem quite right compared to Wilbur. “So he’s not a kid?”

“He is,” Ghostbur reasoned, “But he’s not as young as he looks. Probably. I think it’s kinda like an add-up of how many memories you keep.” Ghostbur brought his hand to his jaw to emphasise his face. “I honestly think I lost a few years, too…”

“Okay, mate,” their father said, now more amused. Ghostbur giggled again. “Keep telling yourself that. I’ll go let them know you’re here, see if they’re ready to see yet. Just… don’t wander too far.”

Ghostbur nodded, with a wide grin. Tommy wanted to reach out to him, and hug him or talk to him or do something, but he was too quick. Tommy reached back out for Ghostbur’s sweater sleeve, and they turned to sit on the steps together.

“You ready?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “I wanna see Techno. And Tubbo. And I wanna talk ‘bout stuff.”

“Fair.” Ghostbur rested his head in his hands, calm and collected as ever. “Everything will be alright.”

Tommy nodded, and shifted his head to rest on his brother’s shoulder. He began to hum again, similar to the way he had in the Void, only much more inexperienced. Ghostbur’s body rumbled with laughter, and Tommy smiled along with him.

They sat in comfort for a while, Tommy practically nuzzling Ghostbur’s shoulder and reveling in the soft texture of the fabric there.

Eventually, though, their father opens the door, and the peace is broken. 

“Alright, boys,” Phil said. “They’re ready to see you now.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> ranboo pov pog
> 
> this is kind of... not the prompt? but it s okay i guess lmao? he’s not supposed to remember ranboo but fuck it he remembers at least his name. i couldn’t leave my boy completely hanging :(
> 
> also i can’t remember shit about the beginning of this year so if this isn’t 100% canon i really don’t care anymore lmao.
> 
> i used the alien language translator for this
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS
> 
> mild gore/body horror, ghosts, memory loss

There was extreme tension as soon as Tommy entered the house. Not the hostile kind, just… tension.

Ranboo’s own chest felt like it was going to implode on itself, and he could hear Tubbo’s sharp inhale. As someone as the door opened. Everyone stood around, awkwardly and without a word, taking in what they were seeing.

The only person who didn’t seem like they were about to freak the hell out was Ghostbur, who was still sporting a small smile and holding Tommy’s hand.

Speaking of…

He was so small. Incredibly small, at least two feet shorter than he was before, and somehow so much skinnier. The skin on his limbs was blistered and gross, like he was still burning. He must have jumped.

Ranboo felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t tell if it was the anxiety or the gore.

There was another moment of silence, where everyone was processing and figuring out what to say. Tubbo was staring at Tommy, Philza was staring at Ranboo, and Ranboo was suffering.

“Tubbo?” 

His voice was so high, and it was, honestly put, the most painful thing he’d ever experienced. Everything hit Ranboo like a truck. Tubbo made a sound like he was being kicked in the chest, and Ranboo could tell he’d felt a similar impact.

“Hi, Tommy,” he said, his voice absolutely wrecked.

(How long had they sat on the couch crying together? Perhaps it had only been a few minutes, but it felt like literal years. Pathetic, that time got past him in this way.)

“You look old.”

Tubbo choked on a laugh, made wet with the tears that were hiding behind his eyes. Quickly, Tommy walked up to Tubbo, and snaked his arms around Tubbo’s waist, much to the other boy’s dismay.

Tears streamed down Tubbo’s face, now, and he was genuinely crying for the first time since he got here. He returned the embrace. Ranboo’s hands itched to hold something, something he wasn’t remembering.

“⋔⟒⋔⍜⍀⊬ ⏚⍜⍜☍,” he mumbled, and Philza stared at him for a few moments before leaving the room without a word. Well, there goes the only person Ranboo could talk to.

He redirected his attention down to his hands, which felt fuzzy. He knew he was shaking, but he didn’t really know why.

No, no, no. He knew why. Tommy hadn’t even said anything to him. Does he recognize him, or did he just not notice because he was standing behind, sort of? That didn’t make any sense, though; it was pretty hard to miss a giant, eight food, hybrid freak, even for an observant kid.

God… a kid. One of his only friends took his own life and was reduced to a child. One that he hardly even fucking recognizes, and who probably doesn’t recognize him. If he had come back like Ghostbur, existing as the right age, maybe this would have gone differently. Maybe Tommy would have gone to him first.

(He knew that was irrational. Tommy would still go to Tubbo first, Tommy would always go to Tubbo first. Ranboo was not anyone’s first choice.)

This age thing must be some kind of cruel punishment for ignoring Tommy, he thought, and his jaw clenched and unclenched and he couldn't stop. He couldn’t stop and, oh my God, he’s going to hurt someone, he's going to hurt Tommy and he’s going to conveniently forget, just like all the other times. 

He needed the memory book.

“⊑⟒⌰⌿,” he said. Ghostbur tilted his head and floated over to him. “☌⊑⍜⌇⏁⏚⎍⍀... ⊑⟒⌰⌿ ⋔⟒. ⌿⌰⟒⏃⌇⟒.”

The apparition shushed him, and wrapped cold arms over his shoulders. He wanted to stay right where he was and hide and feel small, and he wanted to run away at the same time. He couldn’t decide. He was going to hurt Ghostbur, he knew he was, but Ghostbur was holding him and it felt nice, it felt good.

Philza muttered something, Ghostbur left, and Philza replaced him before Ranboo got the chance to even think about complaining. Something was pressed into his arms, and Phil began running calloused fingers through his hair after he had gotten a grip on it. 

Ranboo ran the tips of his fingers over the binding in a familiar pattern, breathing to the rhythm of it for a couple of minutes before trying to speak again. 

“⏁⊑⏃⋏☍ ⊬⍜⎍,” he started, knowing fully well Philza couldn’t understand him. “⟟ ⋏⟒⟒⎅⟒⎅ ⏁⊑⟟⌇. ⊬⍜⎍ ⏃⌰⍙⏃⊬⌇ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⍙⊑⏃⏁ ⟟ ⋏⟒⟒⎅, ⏃⋏⎅ ⟟ ⎅⍜⋏’⏁ ☍⋏⍜⍙ ⊑⍜⍙. ⏁⊑⏃⋏☍ ⊬⍜⎍.”

“Mhm,” Philza hummed, obviously not getting the message. Ranboo was grateful for the response, anyways. “You alright?”

“...Book,” Ranboo said, after a few more deep breaths. “Thanks.”

“Yep.” Phil ruffled his hair one last time and took his hand away, brushing it off on his knees. “Tommy, c’mere.”

Tommy floated over from where he’d been standing with Tubbo, squinting up at Philza. He made a small, questioning hum, and Phil gestured to Ranboo. Oh, no.

“Do you recognize this guy, Toms?”

Tommy stared at him for a few moments, eyes almost visibly hazing over.

Ranboo held his breath. He was sure that if his heart wasn’t beating in his ears, he’d be able to hear the cogs churning in Tommy’s head. He felt bad, he wanted to run away and hide under something until he felt like he was enough to be looked at, but he didn’t. He sat still and let himself be observed by Tommy for a few more excruciating minutes.

Tommy’s eyes came back into focus, and a smile grew on his face. He nudged the hybrid’s knee with his shoulder.

“Ranboo.”

“Oh,” Ranboo said. 

Phil laughed, a breathy sound. “Fuck.”

Later, when Tommy had finally redirected his attention to something else (in this case, it was Friend; he was happily feeding him some treats that Tubbo had given him), Ranboo decided to open his book.

He grabbed a quill of Phil’s from the bucket on the counter, and quickly dipped it in a bit of ink that had dripped onto the wooden surface. (That might have been him, actually.) He brought the pen to the page.

“Tommy remembered me. poggers :)”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ignore the different format, i wanted italics so it’ll look a bit different this chapter. sorry about that, it shouldnt affect the reading experience too much but if it does i’ll go back and change the other chapters.
> 
> PS: lmao au became canon??? /j i really like how tommy’s acting was in his stream it was super pog, espeically the whole thing where he would be kind of shocked that he felt shit. very cool of him tbh  
> PPS: turns out i deleted the edited version and uploaded the unedited version by accident, but im honestly too lazy to edit it all in one go since i already did. if you see me changing sentence formats and word choices, no you didnt 💔
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS (please heed these, this is a heavier chapter)
> 
> temporary character death, violence, violent/sort-of suicidal thoughts
> 
> (lmk if there are more triggers i need to add, i cant think of any rn)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

Dream was was a watcher.

Technoblade showed up quietly, out in the forest, even though Dream had watched him leave only a few hours ago. Dream was crouched behind a tree. His eyes burned, he wanted to close them. He couldn’t.

He half-wanted to jump out and make himself known. He couldn’t do that either, he knew, but it was tempting. Oh, how he loved when Technoblade found him, when he chased him down. It was always good fun.

Perhaps he’d turn a corner and find him: Dream would let him believe that he’d been trying to hide, of course, and Techno would tower over him, bring his axe down, and Dream would rest. He’d wake up, his friends would fuss. 

Dream could picture it already. 

Maybe he’d give a good fight ‘till the end, maybe not; as much as he enjoyed the feeling of Techno’s axe lopping off his appendages, he also took pleasure in the burn of his lungs when he ran. The way his lungs shrank and his throat would rasp. 

Not to mention he had a few new tricks he wanted to put into action, to see how, and if, they would work. He always liked a good test, a nice experiment.

There was a scream as Techno brought his weapon down on another innocent enderman. Dream shook his head and focused again. He was watching, he had to remind himself.

Techno pocketed an ender pearl, the lucky bastard, and swung his axe around by the handle.

The axe was quite the sight. It shimmered magnificently, as all enchanted objects do, and netherite was an amazing ore. So dull, so dark, but it screamed something fierce. There was a vibration that leaked off of it, power and durability and  _ power _ .

Focus, focus. He shook his head again, the mask’s strap snapping behind his head when it rubbed against the rough bark of the tree. He stared in vague amusement as it rolled down the hill, and looked up at Techno.

His ears flicked just slightly, and he heard him grind his teeth. He covered his mouth and tried not to laugh.

The piglin heaved a sigh and picked up the mask, crushing it in his hands. Jesus, that guy was strong.

Dream kinda wished he’d crush his skull next. That was something he hadn’t had much experience with, and it sounded fun. Maybe he could figure out a way to fix it, a way to keep him from doing much damage in the first place. Maybe an implanted helmet would work, although he might need to get someone else on board for that to work.

“Dream,” Techno said, breaking the silence. Uh oh...

Within seconds, Techno had Dream in a corner, back pressed against two trees uncomfortably. He half-wished he’d brought his armor, or at least a weapon, but it was too late to regret anything. He was for sure dead, he might as well just let it happen.

He noticed that the piglin was making a conscious effort not to look anywhere near his face, and it drew a laugh from his throat.

“What’s funny?”

“Are my looks too much for you?” Dream teased, giving a faux pout. 

He brought his hand up to tug at the scar tissue there, knowing how his face tended to contort in disturbing ways that even George had never been able to get used to. He laughed, again, at the grimace on Techno’s face. 

“You’re responsible for half of these, Tech-no-blade,” he said, absently recognizing that he’d started to sound too much like Tommy. How ironic. “You’d think you’d be used to it by now.”

“It’s definitely more than half,” Techno grumbled, “And I’m proud of it. But maybe you should just keep the mask on.”

“I could say the same to you,” Dream said, lying down on his back. Techno’s grip on his axe shifted. Soon, soon, soon. Keep pressing. “Pig-boy.”

“You’re annoyin’. I could just kill you, right here, you know that?”

Dream grinned. “Do it. You’ll hardly make a dent.”

Techno ground his teeth once more. Yes, yes, he’s going in the right direction. He’s almost tempted to get up and start running, but, honestly, annoying him was much more entertaining.

“You already know you can’t affect me,” he said, moving his arms so his head was resting back on them, his belly up. He was vulnerable. “Go ahead, Techno. I’m waiting.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Oh... Come on, now,” Dream whined, jumping to his feet. He stared up at the piglin, internally cringing at how messy his hair/fur shit was. He needs a brush or something. “Just do it already. It won’t hurt you, and it can’t hurt me. I won’t tattle on you.”

“I can assure you that that is not the issue.” Techno slammed the eye of the axe into Dream’s chest, pressing him against the tree. “I’m not afraid of you, or Phil, or pain.”

“Then stop being such a bitch, and just kill me already,” Dream teased. “Do it.”

Without hesitation, Techno reared his axe and swung the butt of it, full-fucking-force, into Dream’s ribs. He let out a small groan, and Techno brought the axe back to let him fall the the floor.

“Go to hell,” the piglin mumbled. 

Dream laughed— as hard as he could in this situation, of course. He could fucking feel his ribs shifting in his chest, he knew he probably punctured a lung. Good, good. This was fun.

He hoped Techno would make it quicker. He enjoyed the release more than the pain, and, although he could endure it, it was still an unpleasant experience.

“Go to hell,” Techno repeated, louder this time. More confident. “Today was supposed to be about Tommy, and you made it about yourself.”

“What?” Dream’s chest wheezed, not too far off from the pain he experienced when he ran. (He honestly didn’t know whether that meant he should see a doctor, or he just had a relatively high pain tolerance. Most likely the former.) “What?!”

“Don’t play stupid,” Techno said, before raising his axe and plunging it between Dream’s eyes.

There was hardly any pain, just a few gasping breaths before everything went kind of grey. Within seconds, he heard the familiar groaning of his house.

“George?” He called, wincing at the sharp pain that moved through his chest. Still healing, he assumes.

“Dream?” Sapnap opens the door, and blanched at the sight of him. “Ew, ew,  ew . Again?”

“Technoblade got pissed again,” Dream said, bringing his hand up to feel his face. There was a brand new, still-healing mark there, and he was tempted to pick at it until he bled out again.

“Just because your deaths aren’t permanent doesn’t mean you can just... God. I-I’m gonna go get George. He knows how to... Yeah,” Sapnap said, his voice tightening. “I’ll... Someone will be right back.”

“M’kay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :]


End file.
